Shooting Sparks
by pi-on-a-skateboard
Summary: Connor would love to be that unbreakable human. But he really isn't. Hidden under that charming exterior is a small child needing to be looked after. In which I decide to take out my own pain on characters - Connor has a migraine and the group decide the best medicine is to invite around the latest guy he's screwed over in his thirst for power. Are boyfriends really so bad?
1. Chapter 1

The thing about migraines was, it wasn't all about the pain. It hurt like a bitch, sure, but it wasn't this excruciating banging with flashes of light that left him curled in a ball in the corner. Sometimes it hurt that bad, but not normally.

No, it wasn't that it was excruciating. It was that it was all-encompassing. It was this constant background of pain, stronger than your average tension headache. And that was in pure background, no light, no sound nothing.

Then you added in all the fucking stimulation. Every time someone's voice hit a G or above pierced through the film of skull and reverberated around. Every time a light flashed, or someone's phone buzzed, or a door opened, or they jumped outside, set it off more. And let's not forget every time he moved or his heart decided to beat. Yep, throbbing to that rhythm.

Of course it had to happen the _one_ time he hosted group study session.

"Connor… Are you okay?"

Pinching the top of his nose, right between his eyebrows, he managed to flick his eyes up into Laurel's. "Headache," he said quietly, squeezing his eyes back shut.

"He's probably just hungover," Michaela was quick to dismiss it. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Who'd want to go out drinking with him?"

He could force through the haze to bite back at Asher though. "Your father said the same thing before he ended up on my doorstep."

"Dude!"

He bit back a whimper… the extra decibels just set off a new rhythm of punches to his brain.

"No, he… I've seen him hungover and this seems different. Besides, he seemed fine when we all came in."

He felt Wes sit down next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. He'd sigh into the touch if he weren't so keen on trying to act like a normal human being, the stoicism so heavily enforced in him.

"Do you want anything? I've got some Advil somewhere…"

Why did Laurel even care about him? He was an ass. "No, I'm fine."

"See? Just hungover. Let's get back to Contracts. Or have you all forgotten about the mocks next week?"

"You're studying for a _mock_?"

"Michaela, you've got to calm down or you'll burn yourself out."

"Shooting star."

He couldn't bite back the whimper. Quiet talking was fine, perfectly fine. Bickering brought in frequency and volume that seemed perfectly targeted to enhance pain. Especially bickering that was exceptionally pointless.

"Well, don't come crying to me when you all fail and drop out! Not even Annalise is worth all of this!"

"Michaela." Wes' words were stern, authoritative – but remarkably even. "Enough. All of you, be quiet."

"Do you want us to leave, Connor?"

God, he wanted to answer yes. To scream at them to go away, to take their stress with them and leave him to lie here dying in his misery. All he wanted to do was sleep, properly in the foetal position, maybe with some meds if he could get to it. Or, hell, just turn off the lights and let him collapse on his own couch. Seemed all he deserved anyway.

But before he could formulate an answer, their phones went off. All of them. Which could only mean one thing –

"Goddammit, Annalise."

"Another case?"

"One week. We have mocks in a week."

"Shut up, Michaela!"

By the time everyone else was on their feet, he'd managed to rock backwards and plant his feet on the ground, hands on the leather beside him. Slow, yes, but still moving. Just not quick enough.

"Come on, pretty boy. Hurry up!"

"I really don't think he's feeling well," Laurel apologised for him, bending over and placing a hand by his elbow – looking to help him transfer his weight?

"It's just a headache," he brushed it off, eyes fixed on the blurry ground. Time to stand in three… two… one… "I'm fine… whoa."

As soon as he stood a wave of dizziness overtook him and he stepped back against the couch, swaying a little and grateful for Laurel's steadying arm. Wes was by his other side in an instant, gently pushing him back to sitting.

"Don't think you're getting anywhere soon…"

"Connor, be honest with me. What's going on?"

"It's a _headache_."

"It's more than just a headache." She put a hand on his forehead. "You're not feverish… but I'm guessing dizzy. Do you get migraines?"

And out he was caught. "Yes."

"And are you having a migraine right now?"

"What are you, a doctor?" He tried to side-step, preparing himself to stand again.

"I was pre-med. Answer the question."

He sighed. "Yes, alright? It's a migraine. It kicked in half an hour ago. Can we go?"

"You can't stand up, Connor. Stay here. We'll tell Annalise you're sick."

_Fantastic_.

"We can't just leave him here…"

"Annalise will _kill_ us if we aren't there in 10. You know how she is."

"Just _go_, Michaela." Wes sounded annoyed. "Connor, do you take anything for your head?"

"There's Imitrex in the bathroom cupboard…"

He heard footsteps padding away, the warmth gone from his side, water rushing into a glass from the kitchen, and rummaging down the corridor. Another couple of head-throbs and there was a cup in his hand, and Wes making his way back into the kitchen/study.

"Look, we can't stay here but I'll come check on you, alright?"

"Just take these," Wes put the tablets in his hand, "and sleep. I'm… I'm going to call Oliver, he might be able to stay with him, I don't know if he has any other friends…"

Connor was too far gone to protest being spoken about in third person… or to bother the one person he was currently too terrified to speak to. The one person he actually somewhat cared about and had managed to yet _again_ fuck over.

"Feel better soon."

He just wanted it all to end.

And then the lights flashed out and the footsteps faded out his door, leaving him to try squeezing the pounding out of his head, lay down and cry, and will the world away.

* * *

><p><strong>Hi guys!<strong>

**So I like to inflict my own pain on characters. Next part will be proper Coliver, however my brain decides to write it out. Do have work though so it may be a day or so. Woot. :p**

**Like it? Hate it? Want me to cameo in the next HTGAWM... as the victim? Please let me know!**

**Keep smiling! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

"Connor… Connor…"

Without opening his eyes, he swatted. "Too early, Dean…"

"He's had a migraine. Let him sleep."

"I'm sorry we had to call you but, well, you know what our boss is like… but we couldn't just leave him and we weren't sure who else we could ask, you know…"

His weight shifted downwards – someone must have sat by his feet. "No, I'm glad you called. He's an asshole, but, you know, he still…"

"You still care."

"Somewhat," the voice agreed.

* * *

><p>At some stage he was aware there was someone in the room with him. They were kind, gentle, like his mother once was. They pulled some blankets from his bed and folded them over him. They ran a face cloth under cold water and rested it over his forehead. They kept his coffee table stocked with water and caffeinated pop.<p>

They spoke in a soft voice – not a harsh whisper, but low, experienced.

He knew it was Oliver. But he didn't want to believe it. And so he just gave in to the haze of pain and sleep and accepted the bustling around him without question.

* * *

><p>It couldn't last forever. Sleep was great, when he could get it, but with the amount of caffeine buzzing through his system, nature was eventually going to call.<p>

He was exhausted. And judging by the clean bucket, few empty cups and the man staring blankly at a DNA on his armchair… he wasn't the only one.

"Hey."

Oliver jumped. "You're awake."

"It would appear so." He struggled to push himself to sitting, body sluggish.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mmm…" He hung his head, letting himself rest into the corner of the back and arm of the couch. "Been better," he admitted.

Oliver's eyes flicked over him once – probably taking in just how pale he looked. "And your head?"

"Not bad."

It wasn't a complete lie – it was a _hell_ of a lot better, even if the remnants still dregged through the corners of his mind – but, like always, Oliver wasn't about to take his shit. So he put the magazine down and raised an eyebrow. Just that.

And Connor _must_ have been feeling guilty… or _really_ out of it… because out of his mouth came, "I mean… I should probably take another pill but I can deal with this. If I could actually get out of bed, I could _work_ like this…"

"You aren't going anywhere, Connor." Almost in an instant, the tablet he'd left on the table was in his hand, the warm hand of his… maybe-friend… wrapped underneath it, fingers curled onto his palm. "_I_ gave up work for this."

Connor upended his hand, swallowing the pill with a glass of water… that Oliver held for him. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," was the response he received, plain and simple and honest enough to hurt.

"After all I did to you? I don't deserve _anything_."

"So is that why you avoided my calls? Because you didn't deserve to speak to me?"

"Because you didn't deserve to be ruined by the asshole that I ultimately am." Connor groaned. "I'm a fuck up. Every relationship I've had I've fucked up. Including whatever the hell we were."

"_Were_?"

"Fuck." He may have been awake, but things were still unfocused, thoughts and images and memories rushing through his brain faster than he could process, words tumbling from his mouth and he powerless to stop them, like paddling upstream right at Niagara Falls.

"Look, Connor…" Oliver sat in front of him, perched on the coffee table. "I'm nearly 30 and I work in IT… I can't say I'm traditional, but we do have different culture. And I obviously couldn't help it, I know I wanted more, and I hoped, and that… that's what it was… I just… I can't help but care about you…"

"The funny thing is…" He rubbed his head, reaching out for another glass of water. "You were never just a booty call. You're great at sex, don't get me wrong… but I can get that anywhere. You were the first one that I went back to in years."

Oliver stared at him. "Am I meant to be flattered by that?"

"No. You should value yourself more than that." His eyes fluttered shut, everything hazing around him again. He wanted to grip on to that train of thought, trail his fingers through it, wrap them around and coil it over his hands like ribbon, but there were too many colours, everything too entangled, and his fingers still too slow from the mixture of migraine and medication. "I don't do boyfriends… because something inside me is so scared it has to go and fuck everything up. I don't know what I'm doing. And I do dumb shit. And it hurts people. And the more I care about them, the worse it seems to be. Sex is easy. Sex is meaningless. Sex is…"

"Always on your mind, apparently." Oliver bit his lip, but he reached out anyway, brushing a few lone bangs out of Connor's eyes. "What if I told you that I'd rather be hurt by you than always wondering, 'what if'? What if I tried harder? What if we both tried to compromise?"

The hand fixed itself on the side of his face, and he fell into it, letting the warmth transfer over his cheek. "You _do_ like pain, don't you?"

Oliver rolled his eyes, but brought them back quickly with a small smile. "A conversation for another time, I think. You're fading."

He was… but he wasn't. The second dose had kicked in, the pain was gone, and all that remained was this clear focus on the skin brushing onto his, the fingertip pressing into his temple. He yawned.

"Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?"

"No…" Connor tried to force his eyes to stay open. "I just want sleep…"

"You do that." Oliver leant forward, pressing his lips onto Connor's. "We'll talk when you're ready."

He yawned again, pushing himself back flat on the couch. "Might not be for awhile, Oli."

"That's alright." The man squeezed his hand before running his hand up and down Connor's side, almost like a cat. "I'll be here when you are."

* * *

><p><strong>Hey everyone!<strong>

**Sorry for the delay - work and a friend needing to chat took up a bit more time than I'd hoped - but here we go, completion :-)**

**I'm thinking of... a way that Oliver can help Connor feel better - but that's not gonna get posted here. Probably just on my Tumblr ;-)**

**Thanks to everyone for reading, following, liking, everything! It means a lot to me!**

**Like it? Hate it? Want me to turn into a speaker and be subjugated to Avi Kaplan's range? Please let me know!**

**Keep smiling!  
>:D<strong>


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